


Promissum

by SpaceIdiot



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Bonding, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Missing Scene, asexual love stoy, but a little sappy, part of episode 6, pretty much just talking, soul mates, with a tiny bit of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-05-01 01:27:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19164421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaceIdiot/pseuds/SpaceIdiot
Summary: Following my fic The Voice of God, the morning after they save the world.





	Promissum

When Aziraphale woke up the next morning, it took him a moment to remember where he was. He sat up, the cotton sheets soft on his skin, and slipped his feet over the edge of the bed. He took a deep breath. The faint bitterness of nearby freshly brewed coffee filled his lungs. He fairly hummed as he slipped off the bed and began to get dressed. When he stepped into the hall, he tried to follow his nose to lead him in the right direction. After a few misfires, he wound up in the kitchen.  
“I didn’t think you’d have a kitchen,” he said, startling his demon companion.  
“Aziraphale,” Crowley smiled, “You’re finally up!”  
“I’m afraid I did sleep in, didn’t I?” He blushed. “It’s been a trying few days.”  
“You don’t say,” Crowley grinned. “Coffee?”  
“Yes please,” replied the angel.  
Crowley poured a mug full. “I’ll let you do cream and sugar,” he said, handing the mug away.  
“We ought to talk about what we’re going to do next,” Aziraphale remarked as he made up his drink. “Heaven and hell aren’t going to leave us as we are.”  
Crowley huffed, sitting down on the edge of his kitchen table. “I was thinking last night,” he said. “I have an idea.”  
The angel sipped his coffee and raised his eyebrows. “Do tell,” he smiled.  
The two of them chatted for a time, and eventually came up with a plan for the day. Aziraphale had to admit, he was most excited about the getting ice cream in the park part, though he was a bit miffed he would not, in his guise as Crowley, be able to get his favorite ice cream. He had protested that neither heaven or hell would notice if they swapped flavors, but Crowley insisted, for accuracy's sake.  
“Now,” Aziraphale said, sitting his empty cup in the sink. “Before we get on with our day, I would like to see the rest of your house.”  
Crowley looked up. “You what?”  
“It’s been 6,000 years,” Aziraphale reminded his friend. “You’ve seen my home many times, but this is the first time I’ve ever been in yours.” He cocked his head to one side, bringing up the image of a puppy begging for treats into Crowley’s head. “I’m curious,” the angel added.  
Crowley made a face. “Oh for God’s sake.”  
Aziraphale raised his eyebrows.  
“Fine, for Satan's sake-” Crowley paused, not liking the sound of that much more, “Well, for somebody’s sake!”  
“Please,” pleaded Aziraphale.  
“Fine,” Crowley sniffed. He stood up and waved a hand, “Come on, Angel.”  
Aziraphale followed after Crowley, smiling to himself. He had to admit he’d been curious about Crowley’s home for as long as he could remember, which was, in fact, a very long time. From the kitchen, Crowley lead Aziraphale into the hall, the opposite direction from where Aziraphale had entered, which is where he kept his house plants. Crowley was not going to remark upon them, until he heard a faint gasp coming from the angel behind him. He whirled around, just in time to see Aziraphale take a pale hand and gently caress the leaves of the largest plant.  
“My goodness, Crowley,” the angel cooed. “What magnificent house plants!”  
Crowley felt himself fairly freeze in his spot. “Y-you think so?” he stumbled. “I always tell them they need to grow better!”  
“But they’re beautiful,” Aziraphale assured his friend. “I’ve not seen plants like this since, well…” his voice trailed off a moment. “Since the Garden.”  
Crowley’s lips parted slightly. He felt a stinging sensation in his eyes, and suddenly he desperately wished he was wearing his sunglasses. Aziraphale beamed at the plants, taking a moment to stroke and say a kind word to each and every plant. Crowley watched every movement, heard every word, and they could not have meant more had they been said directly to the demon himself. When Aziraphale finished, he turned to look at Crowley.  
“Good heaven’s, Crowley,” he said, looking at his friend. “Are you crying?”  
Crowley wiped his eyes. “What? No!” he hissed. “I must be developing allergies to these stupid things!”  
“Demon’s don’t get allergies,” Aziraphale reminded.  
Crowley stood very still. “I...er… it’s just…” he stopped, unsure what to say.  
Aziraphale stepped forward, reachout out his hand and putting it every so gently on Crowly’s arm.  
“What is it?” he asked.  
Crowly looked away. “I just wanted a Garden of my own. Any time they mess up, well!” Crowley asserted his dominance by sending a glance at the plants which made them quiver. “They know not to do that!”  
“My dear Crowley,” Aziraphale sent softly. “Just because you’ve been abused does not mean you need to do the same to these wonderful plants.”  
“That’s not -” Crowley began, “That’s not why -” but he knew it was true. He’d used commanding, demanding, and degrading the poor plants as a form of control. He had no control over anything else, but here, in his Garden, he’d be in charge. No one could throw him out of this Garden.  
“Promise me,” Aziraphale said after a moment, “That you’ll be gentle with these plants form not on, and… and be gentle with yourself. You don’t deserve to beat yourself up any longer. You never did.”  
“Promise you?” Crowley huffed, “You’d trust a promise from a demon?”  
“No,” Aziraphale said.  
Crowley felt his heart drop into his stomach.  
“No,” Aziraphale said again, “But I would trust a promise from you.”


End file.
